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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814425">Only If You're Up For It</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mochapadlock/pseuds/Mochapadlock'>Mochapadlock</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jeremy and Michael's Lovey-Dovey Antics [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Food mention, M/M, Nail Painting, Slice of Life, Tooth Rotting Fluff, but they feel better about the past, cursing, i made this with sole intention of making the reader feel cozy and warm, not exactly canon divergent, “Jeremy. That’s nepotism.”</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:08:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,984</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814425</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mochapadlock/pseuds/Mochapadlock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeremy and Michael paint their nails. Besides that, they chat about recent antics.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jeremy Heere/Michael Mell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jeremy and Michael's Lovey-Dovey Antics [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794802</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Only If You're Up For It</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hullo! Yes, yes, I am back again. Back at ya with this new fluff piece :D hopefully it eases you and gives you warm feelings. I made this with the sole intention of making the reader feel comfy, so grab some blankets and tea, and I'll see you at the end!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Michael rushed into the room, not knocking as usual. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a frenzy, Jeremy pulled his sweatpants upward, still scrambling as Michael walked around his room, clearing the study desk and replacing it with items that clinked as they clacked together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mikey, j-jeez!” Jeremy stammered out. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Knock</span>
  </em>
  <span>, next time, please</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he jumped off the bed, making sure his sweatpants were on right. “Sorry to interrupt your sesh, but I’ve got something that is much more fun that I really wanna do with you.” Michael rushed out of his mouth, although he already saw the rising hue of red in the corner of his eye. “No, not like that! Come on Jere, get your head outta the gutter!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy chuckled as he sat back down on his bed, crossing his legs together, back slightly hunched forward. “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re good — I’m thinking of something much more </span>
  <em>
    <span>relaxing </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Michael said as he sat down a bag of what sounded like glass bottles. Shortly after, he proceeded to pile those items onto the desk as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More fun than—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, more fun than that!” Michael blushed as deep as his partner. He rested the last batch of whatever he was holding onto the table. “First thing’s first — wash those hands.” he pointed towards Jeremy’s hands lying in his lap. Jeremy blushed furiously, hopped down from his squeaky bed, and left the room to come back with Michael’s back turned, moving things around on the desk with quick haste.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So…what’d ya wanna do?” Jeremy feebly asked, scratching the back of his head. Moving out of the way, Michael gestured toward the table, proud to unveil his doing. Arranged in a messy rectangle (really, it was more like an oblong), nail polish bottles ranged from red to violet — the whole rainbow. Jeremy oohed and awed at the display, preening when an arm was slung around his neck. “Chloe gave me some of her nail polish stash, so that means we can paint our nails!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Some? </span>
  </em>
  <span>This is a fuck-ton, dude.” Jeremy exasperatedly said, looking at nearly 20 bottles of nail polish splayed out. “Which single person would need this many?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chloe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Touché.” he pressed a kiss to the other’s forehead. “So…you want to have a nail-painting date?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only if you’re up for it! I’m not gonna pressure you if you don’t wanna.” Michael shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, I’m up for it, Mikey.” Jeremy sweated, but reassured him. “As long as it’s with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pff, you sappy lovebird.” Michael roughly kissed Jeremy’s cheek. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mahal kita, sweetheart.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Jeremy blushed a deep red for what seemed like the fortieth time that day, and Michael chortled at the sight of his embarrassed boyfriend. Michael removed his red hoodie, and let Jeremy get first choosing. Scanning the polishes, there were a miniscule few that had special effects listed on the bottle: “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dries Matte!”, “Triple-Layer Coverage!”, </span>
  </em>
  <span>or</span>
  <em>
    <span> “Special Crackle Formula!”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell’s a ‘crackle’?” Jeremy asked Michael, who sat on the carpeted floor, rummaging through a bag of nail supplies, setting out nail oil, filers, and other nail tools. “Huh?” Michael responded, not familiar with the polish. Jeremy held up the red and black spotty bottle, text worn off from many times of use. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Handing it over, Michael started to examine it, turning it over and over again, watching the polish’s colors follow gravity like a lava lamp. “Uh, how about you choose something more simple, Jere?” Michael suggested, not exactly sure what the hell he was holding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, you’re right.” he shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Jeremy examined each and every nail polish bottle, excluding entire groups with logic. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yellow would not look great with my skin. Or would it? Well, red or orange would look super cool, but probably too aggressive. On the other hand, I don’t look aggressive on my own, what would red nail polish do to change that? I could do black, but then the emo kids would definitely think I’m a poser. Is that really a worry? I mean, who even worries that they’re a poser nowadays. What is a step-up from being a poser? That’s why E-Boys and E-Girls were invented, right? It’s just evolution of the emo kids— </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes were laid on a watermelon pink, as if a batch of raspberries had a baby with sugary cotton candy. It’s the kind you’d find in a Pinkberry, next to other tye-dye colors that looked unnatural — edible, but definitely not healthy. As a nail polish color, though, it attracted Jeremy’s intrigue quite easily. From behind him, his boyfriend went up and peered over his shoulder. “Hey, did you choose a color yet—oh, nice!” Michael’s voice chirped. Passing it over, Michael looked at the bottle. “Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is some expensive polish. Gucci or Versace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah, seriously?” . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I’m kidding.” Michael laughed. “But, it’s a great color, Jere. You wanna do this one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I think I do.” Jeremy smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, nice! My turn now!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unlike Jeremy, his selection process was quick and easy, inspecting bottles and putting them down right away. He looked like a detective analyzing a crime scene, eyeing the bottles of polish like a lineup of criminals. He held up a cherry red polish, one that Jeremy saw earlier when he perused the choices. “This one!”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>They both sat on the carpeted floor, using a Chemistry textbook as a stable base to put their nail polish bottles on. Michael’s plastic water bottle sat next to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if we spill it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just don’t spill it, Jeremy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy was getting apprehensive, breath hitching, nerve endings alit. For some reason, he was starting to get antsy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, I guess it’s not </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> reason. How the hell do I tell him? Shit, I should’ve thought about this earlier.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, do you mind if I put on my music?” Michael’s voice cut through his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knock yourself out, dude.” Jeremy replied, mustering enough bravado and settling into his cross-legged stance. He quickly wiped a drop of sweat from his brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael popped his phone into an empty glass of water that was left by Jeremy’s bedside table, amplifying the sounds of rather combative electronic and techno music. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is your phone glitching out or somethin’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, this is just the music.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whose?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re this band that, uh.” he struggled to find well-descriptive words. “They’re the type of band you listen to late at night, high. I’ll show you some of their music later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You better.” Jeremy attempted to joke around, despite his queasy state.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his side, Michael layed out a few…objects. There was the nail oil and other nail tools, but there was a foreign object too. They looked strange, made out of the same material of foam floor tiles you’d see in a kindergarten classroom, but cut in the shape of waves in the ocean. Michael grabbed one, and started to fit his toes in each of the slots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What in the holy hell is </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm? Oh, I think it’s called a ‘toe separator’. At least, I call it that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A </span>
  <em>
    <span>toe separator</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Yeesh, that sounds painful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael snickered. “Nah, don’t worry about it. It only makes it so your toes don’t stick together once you start painting ‘em.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy could only watch Michael untwist the cap, dip the brush a couple of times, and start applying it to his toes, moving rather quickly. A few strokes are what it took to cover his nail bed — when he was finished with the first foot, he looked up at Jeremy nervously shifting around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do, uh, do you need help opening your bottle?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no.” he stammered out, palms getting sweaty. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, better as well tell him right now. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I just uh, maybe possibly don’t exactly know </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> to paint my nails.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously?” Michael asked. “Whoops, sorry, didn’t mean for that sound snooty. So, you’ve never painted your nails before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope.” he popped the ‘p’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! That’s on me for not asking first — how about I show you.” He carefully held Jeremy’s right hand, holding it near the wrist. “Hand me your polish.” Jeremy complied, and passed it over using his left hand. Unscrewing it with one hand, then setting it on the textbook, he carefully double dipped the brush, and started to drag the polish down his index finger’s nail, a sheer streak of pink being left. Coating the nail bed a second time, he moved on to the rest of the nails, saving the thumb for last. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, I should’ve helped you before I threw myself into it.” he chuckled nervously as he painted his boyfriend’s nails.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re good, Mikey. But do ya think I could do my last finger?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” he handed the nail polish wand to him, and although shaky, he glided it on his thumb’s nail. It was slightly streaky, but another coat or two did the job. He held his hand to the light, allured by the different color on his nail. The pink coat shone in the light, bringing attention to his fingers. He curled them, opening and closing his digits, about to curl them into his palm before Michael stopped him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They aren’t dry yet, Jere. We gotta wait for ‘em to get tacky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long does that take?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Erm. Not sure.” He shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll see.” He took a glance at his pedicure. “Ah fuck.” Michael cursed, checking the coat on his toes. “My pinkie toe’s polish is messed up. I’ll just reapply after doin’ your other hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can do the other side, if you want.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, that’s dumb. That’s for me to decide.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you think you’re able to, knock yourself out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m pretty sure I’m able to do it!” Jeremy defended, and Michael laughed at his boldness. Jeremy stuck out a tongue, concentrating on dipping his nail polish wand enough times to soak up enough polish. “Jere, you don’t have to dip it that many—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh! I’m concentrating!” Jeremy chastised, and Michael laughed at his seriousness.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so, slowly, he continued to apply polish on every nail, making sure none got into the wells of his cuticles. Cautious that he wouldn't mess up his already-finished fingers when he painted, he made sure his nails didn’t graze his wrist. Holding the nail polish wand like a finger food, there were a couple times he nearly slipped up and let go, thanking his good karma when he caught himself before it did. Meanwhile, Michael continued to speed past, fixing his pinkie toe’s nail, painting his other foot, and was in the middle of his first hand once Jeremy exclaimed, “Finished!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bent his fingers in in an effort to make his hands look presentable to show Michael. In turn, the other oohed and awed as he peered at his boyfriend’s finished self-manicure. “Hey, great job! Not bad for a first-timer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why, thank you.” He feigned a bow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m almost done with both sets, so just hold on while I finish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Kay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy got out his phone, intending to browse Twitter, but was distracted rather quickly. Looking at Michael’s concentrated face in silence was something that he wouldn’t get used to, at least, not yet. In their formative years during elementary school, middle school, even the past few years in High school, he would never get used to the tentative look on his face. He’s seen it a couple of times before, when they took timed tests for basic multiplication, when he carried the two of them through a level of AoTD when he died in the beginning of the level, or when he was speeding on the highway on the way to the mall. Except, this time, it was coming out in full force, to the point where a small blep of his tongue poked through his lips, eyes focused in on his own hand like he was a predator on the prowl for food. He moved his hands meticulously, cleanly, and it was unnerving seeing his own nails look picturesque on the first try. “Dude, you okay?” Michael asked, well-aware of the other’s staring for a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy snapped out of his love-drunk stupor. “Oh! Y-yeah! Yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, jus’ checking.” He smirked, coming onto his own conclusions. He shifted his legs, making sure not to smudge the work he has done already. His water bottle would be toppled over if he had scooted any more. “I’m on my second hand now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jeez, how are you so fast at painting your nails?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just really good with my fingers. Have you ever tried to pick a lock?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When would I need to do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno. Have you ever robbed a house?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You robbed a house?!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Jeremy asked incredulously. “Michael, when did—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jeremy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I never </span>
  </em>
  <span>robbed a house.” Michael corrected. “At least, not yet.” he muttered the last part.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothin’.” Michael grinned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pff, okay. You still haven’t answered my question seriously yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right right, forgot. Well, I think it’s just practice with doing hand tricks. You ever tried to juggle a quarter between your fingers? Or done tricks with a fingerboard?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m able to do the thing where you have the pencil spin around each finger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Show me your pencil tricks right now, since you said you’re an expert at it, Heere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never said I was an expert!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just show me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, fine, jus’ hold on a minute.” He got up from the floor, cautiously padded over towards his desk, and took out a mechanical pencil from the drawer, wary of his polish. He sat down again, positioning himself closer to Michael, and at first slipping his pencil between his fingers, it glided effortlessly around each digit, and back to starting position.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the shit! That’s super fucking cool!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks. Learned how to do it in middle school.” He said in a tough-guy voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah, rad…wait, shit, are your nails alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy checked his nails for any damage. Not a scrape, nothing messed up. If anything, a small fingerprint on his index fingernail, but not so much of a mess up. “We’re good.” he breathed out a thankful sigh.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank goodness, it’s a good thing your nails are okay. Oh, and I’ve never actually done that — teach me sometime!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promise.” he truthfully said. Instead of opening his phone again, he instead looked at the conglomerate of polish, and sat in his desk chair, looking over the names of each of them. Michael sat still, chugging away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, who do you think names these?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, probably the same people who name Home Depot paint samples.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, whoever named these doesn’t have a brain cell in their body. Some of these are plain whack. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Burnt Carrot’? ‘Gear Gray’? </span>
  </em>
  <span>This one is called </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Lime Green’</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but this is obviously a black nail polish!” he shook around the old nail polish bottle with murky black-brown liquid. He opened the lid carefully, peering inside the half-empty container. The polish swished side to side slowly like ooze, and the rim of the bottle had a dry, flaky crust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that one is expired, Jere.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Well, I’ll do the honors then.” He chucked the bottle to his trash can, letting it drop in with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>donk</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Hope that didn’t break. I’ll have to clean it later.” Michael giggled, and Jeremy continued to scour the other bottles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which one are you lookin’ at now?” Michael asked, pointing towards the neon yellow polish in the other’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apparently, I’m holding </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Banana Lemonade’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That’s right. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Banana Lemonade’</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” his face twisted with a grimace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> name it then, huh?” Michael entertained the question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno. Maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘PAC-MAN Yellow’</span>
  </em>
  <span> or if they wanted to keep the lemon theme, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Piss Lemon’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re telling me </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Piss Lemon’</span>
  </em>
  <span> is a better name than </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Banana Lemonade’</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh. Okay, maybe scratch that one off. We’ll go with the first one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael heartily chuckled. “Okay, sure. What was the color of yours’?” Jeremy went over and picked up the closed bottle. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Peach Blush’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I think that’s a good name.” he concluded, and Michael nodded. “Lemme see yours.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” Michael obliged, dipping his wand in the bottle before letting Jeremy take it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s see here…</span>
  <em>
    <span>’Bloody Tears’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>a name. Love that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s metal as fuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> named it, I would name it </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Michael’s Jacket’</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, stop it, you.” The two of them laughed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, he’s cute.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy patiently swept through the rest of the colors, separating the polishes that were past its prime, and dumping them in the wastebasket. From the corner of his eye, he saw Michael’s body perk up, hunch turning into a straight line. “One more swipe…” he whispered to himself, and in a dramatic fashion, he dragged the polish wand on this thumb before flicking it away with sass. “Done!” Michael chirped, and Jeremy clapped.  Helping Michael up, he presented his nails with a swagger, handiwork well-done. The deep red looked amazing on him, and to Jeremy’s wonder, the application of the polish was made cleanly. No splatters or tiny droplets. All clean. On his own hands, There were a fair amount of specks on his fingers, a few of the nail beds flooded with color.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, now that we are both finished.” Jeremy got up from his chair. “Let’s go get some grub. I’m hangry.``He rubbed his stomach, and proceeded to twist the door knob before he was interrupted with a hand shutting the door back.“Nuh uh, hold up there Jere-Bear. We gotta let our nails dry, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Right.” a flash of remembrance was on his face. “How long does it take to, uh, cool down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nail polish isn’t hot, Jeremy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sputtered. “I-I mean, how long does it take for our nails to finish… drying?” he took a shot in the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bingo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice.” he fist pumped the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, don’t get those nails messed up”, uncurling Jeremy’s fingers from the fist pump. Nothing damaged, still, but the polish was obviously still in the drying process. “I guess we should just wait it out. Now that I think of it, maybe less than an hour—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An </span>
  <em>
    <span>hour</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Less</span>
  </em>
  <span> than an hour, Sweetheart.” he cooed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well what are we going to do, then?” he grumbled and sat on top of the duvet covers, laying back while also being mindful of his hands; he splayed them upwards, palms down. “We can just talk about life, if you wanna.” Michael offered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you up for it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah. Jeremy, we’re not going to talk about traumas or anything serious, don’t worry.” He gave the other a sincere smile. “Just—how’s your day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it went well. Happy that it’s a Friday. I need to recover from that History final: I’m pretty sure I got a C.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. Maybe you got a C</span>
  <em>
    <span>+</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Michael amused. “I’m kidding. I know how difficult History can be. Had to take it again for this Spring Semester.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> have to, Michael. It’s a year-round class, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was one of the few times Jeremy saw Michael blush, delighted to see the normally easy-going boy sputter. “R-right! Forgot, sorry.” he shrugged his shoulders and smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s cool. I’m just glad that’s over with. I get to focus on other stuff now, like the Chem project, mowing the lawn, Christine’s play—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh right, you two are deciding the play for this year, right?” He cut him off. “Sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re good—and yeah, we are. Mr. Reyes knew of Christine’s enthusiasm and after the last time we held a school play, he said that he needed a break from teaching theatre kids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He should’ve known how theatre kids act, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>one after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I said! But, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyway</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he gave Christine </span>
  <em>
    <span>full </span>
  </em>
  <span>control of the play this year. If it were me, I would be sweating up a storm, but surprisingly, she’s taking it well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? I would think she’d want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the play, not direct one.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to be in the play, but she doesn’t know which part she wants to play.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that, like, cheating? Or nepotism?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you learned that word from History class!” Jeremy remarked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hell yeah I did.” Michael smugly boasted. “Again, isn’t that a little unfair?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, not a lot of people signed up for the play last time. I doubt there’ll be many takers this time. And, yeah, she’s considered the unethical side of it, so she’s asking me to help her and be the stand-in director for the audition process.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, so, how does </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> work? I swear, she’s just making this difficult.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, it isn’t all that difficult. Lemme explain.” Jeremy attempted to quell the other’s worry. “The auditions are this Monday—I’m helping her with it—and after everyone is finished performing, she said that she’s gonna audition in front of </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I get to decide if she gets a role.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jeremy. That’s nepotism.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Jeremy fumbled, looking embarrassed. “Maybe I should talk to her about that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you guys really should.” Michael smiled out of disbelief. “But, if there really aren’t many people auditioning, then I guess it’s alright if she self-appoints a role.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In all honesty, it looks to be that way. I checked the sign-up sheet after school today, and there’s definitely not going to be a big turnout. Jake, Chloe, Brooke, and Jenna were the only names on the list. I think I saw Rich’s chicken-scratch handwriting on there, too. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> even reluctantly put my signature.A small cast </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> work, but I need to shuffle through the plays we haven’t done yet, and filter out the ones that wouldn’t work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what choices do y’all have already?” Michael leaned back, hands straight behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, let’s see. There is ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’—regular version, this time.” he held up his index finger. “‘Almost, Maine’—that one is just a bunch of mini scenes between couples.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds too lovey-dovey.” Michael stuck out his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You love that, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...you got me there.” he rubbed the back of his head bashfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy continued: “‘Willy Wonka’ was our third pick, but when I asked Rich about the choice, he absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>despised</span>
  </em>
  <span> the thought of getting the role of Willy Wonka thrusted onto him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, why not give it to someone else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jake also expressed his discomfort.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hell no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to play Willy Wonka.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not? It seems like fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy shuddered at the thought, imagining going out there in a silly get-up. “Honestly, if no one wants to do it, Christine would probably play it.” Michael reasoned, finger on his chin. “You can sign up to be part of the oompa-loompas!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds terrible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They both laughed. “Anyways, the last option was ‘Singing in the Rain’, but there aren’t really any singers that are up for it.” Jeremy finished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you audition for it? You could be the lead in that one!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t wanna be the lead, Mikey. Too much stress. Plus, I’d like to stress over the lesser-stressful things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds counter-intuitive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You get my point!” He defended himself. “Plus, I don’t know if I’ll even audition, period. I’m not sure if I wanna be back on stage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, what if I auditioned </span>
  <em>
    <span>with</span>
  </em>
  <span> you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No way, I don’t want to pull you into this if you don’t wanna.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, it sounds sorta fun. DnD club is on hiatus right now, and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>like hanging out with the gang.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You would really be up for it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, Jere, I’d be happy to audition with you.” He soothed. “I’m being serious, I actually try when it comes to stuff like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll look into getting some audition forms — </span>
  <em>
    <span>only </span>
  </em>
  <span>if you want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do!” Michael argued for the millionth time. “But only if you do it with me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought about it for a moment, not a second more. “Okay, I’m up for it.” He gave a hug to the other boy, head nestled in the crook of the other’s neck. “Thanks, Mikey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mahal kita, kasintahan.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Michael sweetly whispered back. After a while, they unlatched from the hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, how are your nails doin’?” Jeremy asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael took a close look at his nails — it looked pristine. Like it was done in a nail salon. He gave a thumbs up, and went to grab some water from his water bottle. Holding it in a way so as to not scrape his nails against the cap, it popped up and fell to the ground, to Jeremy’s chagrin. He shrugged, and took gulps of the water, Jeremy eyeing the way his adam’s apple bobbed up and down. Michael jabbed him playfully once he noticed him staring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since we still have some time— how about a challenge?” Michael proposed out of the blue, not completely confident in what he was saying. He set the bottle on the dresser.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kind of challenge?” Jeremy said rather cockily. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, what would be a good way to pass the time? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Quickly, he came up with: “I bet you can’t do a handstand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep.” Michael shifted, glad that his blurting didn’t sound off-handed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Challenge accepted — well wait, what do I get in return?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael scrunched up his nose, thinking. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit, didn’t think about this part. Well, to be fair, I didn’t think about </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> of this beforehand, so… </span>
  </em>
  <span>“You can get a can of my Diamond Sprite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Diamond Sprite’</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Jeremy said the last part in air quotes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Diamond-flavored Sprite.” Michael responded. It was an actual soda he had, currently sitting in a mini fridge in his room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Diamond-flavored Sprite? How much was it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More than you’ll ever see in your life, Heere.” he bragged, leaning against the dresser. “It was 50 bucks per case.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> seen that amount before—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you up for it or what?” Michael chuckled abashedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Deal!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool. Go ahead then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, when else, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mahal Ko</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Michael’s ceaseless flirting never failed to make Jeremy blush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“R-right! Right.” Jeremy got up from the bed and walked over to the farthest wall, fanart of the Halo guy from the last gaming convention hung up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure about this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shouldn’t you be asking yourself that, Jere?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy’s blush deepened, hands getting warmer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to confess.” Jeremy peeped out. “I haven’t done a handstand since I was in Elementary School.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I figured.” Michael said pointedly, albeit still amused. “You want me to do it with you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I mean, well—” he stammered. “First, I’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>got</span>
  </em>
  <span> to stop agreeing to things when I don’t even know what I’m doing. Second, Where do you even </span>
  <em>
    <span>start</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here, lemme demonstrate for you.” Michael suggested. He took a quick glance at his hands — still looking good, paint isn’t smudged — and proceeded to plant the two adjacent to the wall. Bending a knee, he adopted a lunging stance, one leg ahead of the other. Making small bounces, his back leg lifted off the ground, until he muttered an “oomph”, and suddenly both of his legs were up against the wall. His feet overlapped the poster, and his loose NASA T-shirt rode down, exposing his belly. Michael had to stifle a laugh as Jeremy’s blush deepened to levels he hasn’t seen before, but a grin escaped him. “See? It’s pretty easy, Jere.” He looked down — well, up, in his case — and saw his nails, which, with every passing moment, resembled Jeremy’s flustered face, a deep hue of red. With another “oomph”, he kicked his legs back, back into the readying position, and whipped his upper-body upwards, smiling at Jeremy. “Again, I’m here to assist.” he offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait wait wait, isn’t this supposed to be a challenge? There’s not supposed to be any assists in challenges!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you say so, Jere. I’ll stand at your side, just in case.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“O-okay, sounds good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeremy took the place where Michael stood in last, and lined up his hands where Michael’s imprint was. He took the same stance, one knee bent slightly,  and prepared himself mentally and physically. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate, but it seemed like Michael could see the gears turning rapidly, giving a pat on his shoulder to ease him and his tensions. He even gave a small peck to his forehead: with that, Jeremy felt ready to do the handstand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did a few jumps, his legs only getting halfway there. “Don’t bend your legs, and make sure your arms are straight!” Michael coached. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On a faithful leap, his legs swung upwards, and his body stood upright, until it leant against the wall. Michael was quick with the assist, holding his ankles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you’re doing it!” Michael cheered. But unfortunately the accomplishment was short-lived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yeah, I’m doin’—” with a quick shake of his arms, like jello, his body flopped down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah shit, are you okay?!” Michael was quick to the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah. A little dizzy.” he made sure his body was still intact. He didn’t hurt anything…until he got to his nails, when an alarm rang off in his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held out his hands, scanning the fingertips to and fro, looking for dents and creases in the coat of paint. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing. Perfectly good. In fact, it’s already gone through its tacky stage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Michael, I think our nails are done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shoot, really?” he touched his own nails. “Huh. Yeah, I guess you’re right.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does this mean—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wanna grab some grub?” Michael smiled his usual lax grin. “I call raiding the pantry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> pantry, Michael. As long as you don’t cook anything, we’re good. I’ll be the one to cook the Mac.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a great cook, thank you very much!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, come here, Heere.” they both laughed at the pun, and Michael gave a stern kiss to the other’s forehead. “Let’s go.” and with that, they abandoned the nail polish bottles, making it down the stairs with famished appetites. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hullo again! The boys are gonna grab something to eat - maybe you should too? Thanks for reading, and I hope to publish more one-shots soon. I've been getting lotsa inspo for Boyf Riends fics lately.</p><p>Actually, is anyone up for a bit of hiking? *wink wink*</p><p>See y'all next fic! Please comment and tell me what you thought!</p><p>Fun Fact: I started painting my own nails around a year ago! It's super fun, y'all should give it a try!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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